Sorting it Out
by luvscharlie
Summary: The night before his son leaves for his first year at Hogwarts, George attempts a father/son talk with Freddy.


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Sorting it Out

George stood outside his son's bedroom for a few moments before knocking. Tonight was the last night he would be home for many months.

For the first time in a good while, he was at a loss for words. How had his parents gone through this six times? At least he and Fred had given them a break. With twins, you could say two goodbyes in exchange for one dull ache of loneliness. But, children grow up whether or not we want them to. He pushed his son's door open and glimpsed the redhead bent over the trunk he was packing.

Freddy did not resemble his mother in the least. In fact, he was, in looks, a replica of the man whose name he bore.

"Have you packed your itching powder and Skiving Snack Boxes yet?" George asked.

"Father, you know how Mother disapproves of those."

This child, in personality, however, could not have been more different from his namesake. Angelina swore it was payback for the years of torment he and Fred had inflicted upon Percy. She said it seemed only fitting that one of them would have a child so similar in personality to their stiff older brother.

"Of course she does. Whatever was I thinking?" George asked in feigned astonishment.

Freddy rolled his bespectacled, blue eyes.

George sat on the end of his son's bed and patted the spot beside him. Freddy ignored him and continued to pack his trunk. When it appeared he had convinced his son that he wasn't leaving, Freddy sighed deeply and carefully placed his freshly laundered robes inside the trunk and closed the lid.

"Father, did you _need_ something?"

George chuckled. "Yes, I _need_ something. Come on, son; give your dad a break here. I want to talk to you. It's your last night home. Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

Freddy removed his glasses and rubbed them absentmindedly on his shirt to clean the lenses. He sighed deeply as though conceding defeat and the words tumbled quickly from his lips betraying the calm demeanor he was struggling to portray.

"Dad, what if they put me in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw or…"

"Or Slytherin?" asked George. He hadn't the heart to tease him, not when he had even slipped and called him "dad." He had stopped doing that when he was four.

"Yeah."

"I can't imagine that happening," George said with what he thought was an admirable show of false-confidence. "No Weasley has ever been in another house. We're Gryffindors, the lot of us."

"I know," said Freddy in a small voice, "but Lucy says I'm such an instuffable know-it-all that she's sure I'll be in Ravenclaw."

George smirked. "No, son, you're an insufferable know-it-all, and I beg to differ. I'm sure there are a few things you've yet to master." Freddy rarely showed vulnerability, and it was refreshing to see that the child actually had some insecurities.

"Dad," the boy said, lip trembling, "will you be really disappointed if I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor?"

There was a time when George would not have entertained the notion that his child could be anything but a Gryffindor. However, becoming a father had changed him. He was no longer the man he once was. He loved his children, both for their similarities to him and Angelina and the things about them that were uniquely their own.

"Son, regardless of which house you're sorted into, that doesn't change who you are. I love you now for who you are, and I'll love you after you're sorted no differently."

"Even if I'm sorted into Slytherin?"

George bit his tongue. "Yes, even if you're sorted into Slytherin." Dear Merlin, that was difficult to say aloud.

* * *

Later that evening, as he and Angelina were getting ready for bed, she said, "I overheard your conversation with Freddy today."

"Have you taken to lurking at doors, woman? There's a bit of Slytherin in you, I do believe." He pulled back the duvet and climbed beneath it. She followed suit. He opened his arms and she snuggled up to him.

"How disappointed will you be if he's not a Gryffindor?" Angelina asked.

"Not at all," he lied.

* * *

Three days later, George was in the kitchen when Angelina spotted Freddy's white owl on the horizon.

"Oh, George, look!" Angelina cried, pointing at the approaching owl. "It's his first letter home from Hogwarts," she said. She teared up as she broke the seal on the rolled up parchment.

"Honestly, babe," George scoffed. "He's only been gone three days. You're going on as if you haven't seen him in ages."

Angelina glared at him and read the letter to herself while George shuffled from foot to foot in anxious anticipation. His mouth fell open when Angelina finished the letter, re-rolled the parchment and vanished it with her wand.

"Wh—What'd you do that for? What'd it say? How is he? Which—"

"Which house is he in?" she asked with a smirk.

"Yes, that too."

"It's only been three days. You can wait until the next letter, Mr. Picture-of-patience."

There were days, particularly days like today, when he wondered what ever possessed him to marry her. She was frustrating at times… oftentimes really.

Angelina brushed past him on the way out of the kitchen. He grabbed her around the waist and tickled her unmercifully.

"Okay, okay, I give," she squealed, using her wand and making the parchment reappear in mid-air.

George yanked it to him before she could vanish it again. His eyes skimmed its contents quickly, then he held up both arms in victory as the parchment fluttered to the floor. "Another Gryffindor! Yes!"

"How worried were you?"

"I thought he was destined for Ravenclaw," George said with a relieved sigh.

"Would that have been _so_ horrible, George?"

He pulled a face that his mother would have told him to be careful making for fear it would freeze that way. He gave no further response and ran for the Floo.

Angelina called after him, "Where are you going?"

"To tell everyone, of course!"

Fin.


End file.
